Dreamaticus

We were late for our anniversary dinner at the upstairs restaurant on Commercial Street in Leith. I pulled on my pale blue cotton shift dress from Monsoon, and TPR dragged me out of the house. We were in such a rush that I had no time to put on any underwear, and neither of us wore shoes.

By the time we reached the corner of Leith Walk and Great Junction Street we were still running very late. Forgoing footwear had actually slowed us down rather than sped us up, and the soles of our feet were filthy and sore. This called for drastic action – so we stole an empty black cab for the remainder of the journey.

We dumped the car in a “permit holders only” spot on cobbles next to the Water of Leith, making sure that we wiped our fingerprints off the steering wheel and bodywork before sprinting the last few metres to the restaurant.

At first I thought we had the wrong place. The woman who greeted us at the door, dressed in the style of an American diner waitress, was handing out e-number laden candies. When I asked what had happened to the curries, she assured me that our table was ready upstairs – as were Denis and Saskia, waiting to serve us.